Moloch: Coincidences
by mamfa
Summary: First in the (epic) Moloch series. An ideal is easy to cling to if nothing challenges it. But when a young boy turns up at the X-Mansion needing their help, his deadly heritage becomes a challenge to them all...


Moloch: Coincidences

Ye olde compulsory disclaimer: No money. Don't sue. Waste of time. They're Marvel's. Not mine. Beer good. Fire pretty. Chainsaw fun!

Continuity? What continuity? I spit on your feeble continuity, you fiend! –insert maniacal laughter –

X-Men/new character. Toby's mine. Use him without permission, and I'll beat you to death with a stunned weasel. 

The title, "Moloch," comes from early Israelite canon. He was a brass god with a belly of fire, in which children were sacrificed. 

Feedback good. Flames ignored. Tend to burn. Ow!

Archive: wiv permission. Just ask. And that's 'wiv' wiv a 'v.'

****

Moloch: Coincidences

Mamfa 

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

Cyclops clenched his teeth and pulled the covers tighter around him. No way. No damn way. They'd stopped Apocalypse from eating the moon as an after dinner mint yesterday – he felt he was entitled to ONE sleep in, fearless leader or no. Whomever was at the door could just sit on their butt and wait. 

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

"Scott, could you get that?" came Jean's voice, floating down the hall.

Damn, damn, _damn…_

Grumbling disconsolately, Scott padded barefoot down the hall clad in his track pants and an old T-shirt. Damn dignity. Damn _everything,_ for that matter…

Don't be surly, dear, said Jean telepathically within his aching cranium. 

Yes, love, he responded automatically, then cursed himself. Why not? Everyone else in the damn mansion had explicit permission to be as grumpy as they liked – cases in point being Cable, Bishop and Logan. Why wasn't he allowed an occasional fit of pique?

Because I said so, Scott.

KNOCK, KNOCK, _KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!!!_

"Damn, damn, _damn!"_

Stumbling over the carpets that Jean had found so necessary to put in the hallways, he made it to the front door in a spectacularly bad mood. He had to physically restrain himself from taking out his irritation on the blameless, inoffensive front door as he wrenched it open.

Scott stared blearily at the boy on the steps. He stared back. 

His ears were pointed, like Hank's, and his eyes as blue. That, however, was where the resemblance ended. He seemed about thirteen years old, slight and short. His blond hair was messy and stuck up at the back. Then the boy smiled brightly, revealing savagely sharpened teeth, said "Hi!" and Scott almost recoiled.

The boy's voice… it was so strange. Almost choral, as if a million people were whispering the same word in tandem behind him. Then Cyclops noted the sadness behind the boyish face, and hesitated. This was undoubtedly a mutant boy, who was running from something.

"Um… hi…" he answered, unsettled. Inside, his inner critic was having field day… _fearless leader, indeed…_

"I sorta got told to come here…" his blue eyes were slightly hypnotic. "I was tole this was a good place to …"

"Hide?" The boy winced, then nodded. Scott felt a pang of recognition.

"C'mon in."

The boy lit up, his face disbelieving. "Oh, wow! You mean it?"

"I wouldn't have said it otherwise," Scott told him. He was somewhat perturbed still, but his voice remained level. "What's your name, lad?"

"Don't know," the boy replied. "No-one ever told me. Wow! This is some house!" He peered down the corridor, lushly furnished and opulent. "You guys must be loaded."

"Hmm," was Scott's noncommittal response. "You don't have a name?"

"Nope. Orphan." The words were said bravely, with a child's brash confidence, but Scott saw the slight tremble of the lower lip and the stiffening of the neck, and a wash of sympathy overcame him.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I know what that's like. This way." 

The boy glanced up, wondering if he'd imagined the empathetic tone of this grim-faced, forbidding man, as he followed him down the corridor. "It's okay. Never knew my folks, so it doesn't hurt as much as others I know."

They walked in silence down the corridor for a second. The boy's attention was endlessly distracted by doors branching away into rooms even more expensive and ornamented. Cyclops led him up a stairwell towards the professor's quarters, knowing his mentor would be awake. 

"Who told you to come here?" he asked nonchalantly, pushing open the door to the study.

"Oh, a friend of mine," said the boy, peering into the room. There seemed to be a man seated behind a heavy oaken desk in there. "Said he'd heard from someone else of a good place for a mutie…"

"Scott?"

"Morning, professor," replied Scott, ushering the boy inside. "Seems we have a visitor."

"Indeed?" Charles Xavier looked up from the heavy tome he read from. His eyes were weary, but still sharp as they took in the boy. "Hello there, young man. What can we do for you?"

The boy blinked, and looked up at Scott who stood forbidding behind him. "Umm…"

"Don't be shy," said Xavier gently. "What is it you need, lad?"

"I… I kinda need a place to go, mister," he said, squirming under that piercing gaze. "I ran away from the orphanage…"

"And why did you do that?"

The blue eyes hardened to steel sapphire. "I'm a mutant. They don't like mutants. They were going to kill me."

"Who?" asked Scott, horrified. Kill this boy with the elfin face?

"The older boys. One of them is a member of a gang, and they wanna kill black people as well as Jews and mutants. He's the leader." The blue eyes dropped to the floor. "They were going to give me to that gang to be killed tommorrow night. I don't wanna die."

"Understandably," murmured Xavier. "So young…"

"How did you know they were going to kill you?" asked Scott, his mind still reeling.

For answer the boy pulled off his shirt, his coltish limbs yanking the fabric over his head inexpertly, and the two men could see the harsh welts and scars on his underfed torso. Definite bruises stood out on his neck – an attempted strangulation, undoubtedly recent. He turned around to show his skinny back, and they recoiled from the sight of the words 'die mutie' scrawled inexpertly into his shoulder-blades. They would most probably scar, left there for life as a reminder of a non-existent childhood.

"They been doin' this to me for a long time… ever since my voice went weird," said the boy softly. "I used to think my name was 'damn mutie.' I had to get away before they…" his eyes dropped. "I had to get away," he concluded.

Xavier's face was blanched and white, he looked almost sick. "Scott, get Hank. We'll clean that up. You can stay here as long as you want to, understand?" He looked earnestly into the boys eyes. "We are mutants too. We can help. Nothing like this will ever happen to you again."

The boy swallowed. "T-thank-you sir."

Xavier ran a hand over his scalp. "I cannot believe… what is your name, my boy?"

"Don't have one, sir."

"You don't…?"

"No sir."

Just then Hank came bounding into the room, followed by Scott. "Professor? Scott said it was urgent… well, who do we have here?" The furry blue mutant smiled benignly down at the boy, who smiled shyly back, completely unafraid of Beast's unorthodox appearance.

"Hi."

"Henry, this young man will be staying here as long as he needs to. Could you take a look at his…"

But Beast had already noticed. "Oh, my stars…"

Scott gritted his teeth. "Exactly."

"Hank here is a doctor," Xavier told the bemused boy. "He'll help clean those up. Beast, some of those are infected…"

"I can see that. In fact, judging from these scars, it's a miracle he's still alive." Hank pursed his lips in thought. "To the infirmary we go, then. Come on… your name?"

"Don't have one," said the boy, now thoroughly confused. 

"Well, we have to call you something!"

He tipped his blond head on the side as he started to follow Hank out the study door. "A lady called me Toby once. Said I looked like her little boy…"

"Toby it is then. This way!" Hank kept the jovial pretense up, but the other two men could see how worried he was.

Before leaving the room, the boy stooped down and picked up his shirt. The nails on his small hands were thick, cut off raggedly, and an almost brown colour, contrasting strangely with the white of his shirt and his skin. Straightening, he looked into Xavier's eyes, and the professor could distinguish tears in those of the boy. "Thank-you, sir…" he said again, before darting from the study after the blue furred scientist.

Xavier could only turn to Scott with overwhelming pity and fury in his heart. 

The boy had to run to keep up with the Beast, who used the floor as an afterthought when it came to perambulatory motion. "Hey, wait up, mister!" he finally had to call.

Hank turned around, to see the boy collapsing onto the floor, an accusing expression on his face. "Oh," he said sheepishly. "My profuse apologies. Here!" And he scooped the boy up to seat him on his broad blue shoulders, before setting off again. 

"Whoa!" The boy sounded startled, but not scared, Hank perceived with satisfaction. 

The blue fur was softer than he thought it would have been, the boy noted. And this was truly incredible – swinging through the mansion like this. The plush furnishings grew more sparse as they descended into the lower levels, and Hank finally stopped his helter-skelter barrel ride outside an unadorned, even Spartan door. "Ye olde infirmary and lab," said Hank wryly, depositing the boy on his feet. He hadn't had the heart to come back here since Peter…

"Wow!" The boy wasn't stingy in his praise. "This musta cost a fortune!"

"Don't touch anything," cautioned Hank, chuckling at his enthusiasm. Strangely enough, it didn't hurt so much to be down here, as he thought it would. "Sit up here on this bench, my boy, and let's have a look at these."

The boy scrambled up onto the bench, his sturdy legs swinging far from the floor. Hank raised an eyebrow as he touched an abrasion, and the boy flinched. "Hurt, huh?" He nodded. Hank sighed. "Well, you're going to have to be a brave boy, because I'm going to have to disinfect them."

"YOW!!!!!"

A howl rang through the mansion from the general direction of the labs. Bobby Drake's head whipped from the television. "Hank?" he said incredulously.

"That weren't Hank, bub," grunted Wolverine from the couch. "That was a kid."

Bobby blinked. "A kid? What the hell…"

"A boy actually," said Scott from the doorway. The muscles were tensing along his jaw, and they could see something had upset him enormously. "He turned up at the door about an hour ago, expecting to be turned away. We were a last resort."

"How come?" asked Logan, his brow furrowed.

Scott gritted his teeth. "He's a mutant. You should have seen what was _done_ to him. He should be dead. Another day in that place and he _would_ be dead."

"Oh," said Bobby grimly, standing and walking for the door. "One of those."

Cyclops gave a curt nod. "Exactly. He can't be more than thirteen years old, so don't scare him too much. Hank's just cleaning him up a bit." His fists balled. "He had 'die, mutie' carved into his back. Someone tried to strangle him. He's covered in scars. Honestly, sometimes I wonder why we bother…"

"There!" Hank wound surgical gauze around the boy's torso, taping it down. He was pitifully thin. "Now I think it's about time you had a good meal."

"Someone say food, blue?" came a voice from the door, and Bobby walked casually into the laboratory. The boy's blond head whipped up as he took in the stranger. "Ah, you must be Toby. Scotty told us we had a new arrival." Bobby's tone was casual, and he betrayed no emotion as he noted the scars on the boy's shoulders and the bruises around his neck. 

"Toby, this is my esteemed partner in Twinkie theft, Robert Drake," pronounced Hank pompously, and Bobby dug him in the ribs.

"Bobby to you, kiddo," he winked, and Toby laughed. Bobby started at the unearthly quality of the boy's voice, but recovered magnificently. "C'_mon,_ Grover, I'm starved, and if I know you, you've forgotten to eat today."

Hank sighed. "I was… busy," he said somewhat defensively, carefully helping the boy slide down from the bench. "Well?" he asked the boy. 

Toby grinned somewhat tentatively. "I am kinda hungry…"

"To the kitchen, then!" Bobby raised a finger ceremoniously, and the boy laughed again. Bobby beamed at him.

Hank shook his head. "Why is it that you always get along so famously with children, Robert?"

Bobby shrugged. "My mentality's closer to theirs I s'pose. Now let's eat!"

Toby trotted after the two X-Men, his eyes darting. There was something very different here, that was evident from the state of the equipment and the glimpses of things beyond his understanding. His attention was forever being distracted from one door to another, and he began to lag behind.

Bobby raised an eyebrow as the boy slowed outside the danger room, his blue eyes curious and his pointed ears raising. The sounds of someone running a program could be heard from the corridor, and then someone swore venomously in French. The curses ran on for quite some time, vitriolic and sulfurous, and Bobby restrained himself from covering the boy's ears, instead sharing a look with Hank.

"This way," said Hank gently, and Toby looked sharply away from the closed door, a guilty look on his elfin face. Bobby smiled reassuringly, and the boy's relief was almost palpable as he started away from the door.

Almost immediately after his back was turned, the danger room door swung open, and Gambit, a towel around his neck, practically tripped over the boy. "Sapristi!" he choked, his customary grace deserting him in his surprise. "Whose is de kid?"

Toby, pressed up against the wall, looked at the Cajun curiously, taking in the shaggy auburn hair and the red on black eyes. Bobby put a hand on the boy's shoulder, but his attention did not flicker from Remy. "I'm Toby," he announced, somewhat proudly, trying on the name tentatively. 

"Bonjour, Toby. I'm Remy." Gambit held out a long, callused hand, and the child shook it gravely. A jolt of recognition passed through the Cajun. This boy…

"We're going to go eat. Wanna come?" The serious blue eyes took him in without reservation or prejudice.

"Diplomatic little fellow, isn't he," murmured Hank, amused. 

"Er… oui, I t'ink I just might," said Remy finally.

Toby slowly smiled.

The kitchen was big, bigger than he'd ever seen. "How many people live here?" he asked, looking around the enormous kitchen. The fridge itself was huge.

"Hell, I dunno," said Bobby irreverently, opening a cupboard. "Damn, outta Twinkies."

"What!!"

"Dere's a fair few dat live here, petite homme," said Gambit as he inspected the coffeemaker and sighed. "Cable drank all de coffee again."

"So make some more. Calm down, blue, there's still some Hershey Bars. And I know for a fact you keep a box in your room full of Twinkies." Bobby rummaged around in the cupboard, his eyes narrowed. "What do you wanna eat, Toby?"

"But it's the principle of the thing!"

"Sure, blue. Toby?" Bobby looked inquiringly at the boy who was standing in front of the kitchen table, his expression quizzical.

"I… don't know. You don't have porridge, do you?"

"No, I believe we don't," said Hank, checking the cereal cupboard. "But I'm sure we can get some…"

But the boy was beaming. "I'll have anything but porridge then."

Remy hid his grin by facing the coffeemaker. "Dere's gumbo in de fridge, along with dat stuff Bishop insists on eatin', an' Stormy's salads…"

"What happened to the good old days of the peanut butter sandwich for lunch?" asked Bobby tolerantly.

They finally decided on hotdogs and milkshakes with a Hershey bar for dessert. Doctor or no, Hank McCoy didn't care what he ended up eating, and the other two men were notorious for devouring absolutely anything and never gaining weight. Toby wolfed the food down as if it would disappear before he finished, staring at his empty plate afterwards with bemused astonishment. Wordlessly, Remy handed him another hotdog and passed him the ketchup. 

The boy gave him a fierce grin filled with gratitude, before attacking the helpless hotdog. His mouth open, the three X-Men could see the incredibly sharp teeth that were his incisors and molars, and Remy blinked. Where had he seen teeth like those…

The food was gone in less than a minute, Toby ripping the food to shreds with those strange teeth and swallowing almost without chewing, wincing as the action hurt his bruised throat. He leaned back on the chair, his legs swinging precariously, and his small hands wrapped around his glass as he drank. The thick nails stood out starkly on his skinny little fingers. He finished with a sigh of happiness and turned his attention from his food to his companions, who had hardly started, watching his single-minded consumption with a kind of dumbfounded curiosity. 

"That was so good," he announced. "Real good."

Bobby swallowed. "That's… er, good."

Scott yawned as he padded back towards his room. The professor had needed to talk to him about the boy some more – apparently he'd sensed something very familiar about him, yet extremely different. And would he talk to Jean please, about where the boy would sleep, if he would be so kind.

Scott sighed. Yeah, yeah, yeah. So much for his lazy and relaxing day. He knew he was being immature, but he really didn't care. Jean?

Yes hon? Are you done sulking yet? came Jean's amused telepathic rejoinder.

Sulking? he protested half-heartedly, and heard her chuckle on the other end of their rapport. No, seriously, love, we have a new arrival.

Really? Who?

An orphan boy. We've called him Toby. The professor told me to ask you about where he's going to sleep.

There was a peculiar sound from Jean's end of the telepathic rapport that let him know that she was talking to someone, and then; Okay, Scott, I'm coming to speak with you now. I just had to talk to Ororo for a bit. About how old is the boy?

He seems about twelve or thirteen, very small and skinny. He grinned slyly. He's as cute as a button. He'll be spoiled shamelessly.

He felt rather than heard Jean's laughter. So maybe the spare room near the attic? Storm's always been good with children…

Scott considered it. Maybe we'll let him decide. After all, everyone else here did.

Good point. One thing we know, Rogue will fawn all over him. She loves kids.

So does Hank. He was getting along well last time I saw. Scott's mood sobered as that reminded him exactly why Hank had been summoned. Oh yeah, hon… he's only a little guy, but he's been through the wringer. Look. He sent his memories and perceptions of the boy's wounds to her, emphasizing the bruises around his neck and the cruel message in his back, and a wave of nausea and anger washed over him from Jean.

That's… she struggled to find the word …deplorable. A gorgeous boy like that! How could anyone…

Calm down, sweetheart, he soothed. *I know. I feel pretty much the same, only I used stronger words. Hank's seeing to it…

"I can't believe anyone would be so cruel!" she stormed into their quarters, her arms waving wildly, her red hair swinging emphatically. "My god, why the fuck do we bother when a little boy like that can…"

"Shh," he stood hurriedly and interrupted her ranting, enfolding her in his arms. He could feel her trembling, the vestiges of her anger dissipating but not vanishing. "That's why he's here. I'd like to give a medal to the person who told him about us, actually. He'd be dead if not for them." Quickly he told her about the hate gang with designs of mutant homicide, who were going to kill Toby in some rite the next night. 

Jean had to sit down, staring at her husband in horror. "Jesus Christ…" she breathed hoarsely. "Where is he now?"

Scott put an arm around her. "He's with Hank, who'll show him around, get him a square meal, and introduce him to everyone."

"Does he know…?"

"That we're the X-Men? I'll bet he has some suspicions. He seems a bright kid. But no, no-one's told him just yet." Scott sighed. "We'll get around to it."

Toby poked his head around the corner. There seemed to be a man asleep on the couch, a hat pulled down over his eyes. He'd left the table to go to the bathroom, and the directions he'd received from the man with the red eyes and the accent said to go through here. He hadn't said anything about creeping past snoozing dudes though.

"You may as well show yerself, kid," came the man's voice, startling him. It was a light baritone, and gravelly, though not unkind. Toby felt somewhat abashed as he walked into the room, and the man pushed back his hat. 

He seemed about thirty-five or so. Black wiry hair and sideburns framed a weathered face and blue eyes. For a short guy, Toby noted, he sure was bulky. "Hi there, mister."

"Ain't no mister, kid," the man snorted, his eyes remaining level and piercing. Toby was reminded of the eyes of the professor – knowing and overly observant. But while the professor's eyes were hard and somewhat melancholy, these were keen and shrewd. "Name's Logan. You are?"

"Toby," he answered, smiling tentatively. Logan blinked at the sight of the boy's teeth. 

"Hunh. So you're stickin' with us fer a bit, hey?"

"I s'pose so." Toby weighed the options. Talking to this fascinating guy… or the bathroom. It was hardly a decision, and he hauled himself up onto the couch next to the man. He smelled of tobacco and the outdoors. "You a mutant too?"

"Yep. Everyone here is." Logan looked sidelong at the boy, who was regarding him with open curiosity. "You included, I can tell."

Toby tugged at his pointed ears. "What gave it away?" he asked somewhat sadly.

__

That surprised the Canadian X-Man. No child this young should sound so old. "Well," he said, trying to keep the tone light, "Yer ears were a bit of a hint. Then there's yer voice. And them teeth. But there's other stuff… yer scent. Center of balance when you walk – yer built fer speed. Plus, I'll betcha those fingernails have to be cut twice a day."

Toby looked shocked. "H-how did you know?"

Logan laughed. "Trained fer it." He picked up the boy's hand, looking at the thick nails. "I knew a fella with claws like that. See," he indicated the rough edge, "you bit 'em off this morning I'll wager. They ain't had time to round off, an' already they're past the tips o' yer fingers."

Toby's face was flaming to the tips of his ears as he wrenched his hand back. "Don't tell no-one! Please?"

Logan looked surprised. "Why not?"

Toby swallowed. "They hurt people. They're what people say I should be locked up for."

This was wrong, Logan thought. "Look, kid," he said, trying to be gentle, "I been there. I _know._ Check these out." _Snikt! _He popped his claws, and the boy tried to focus on three shafts of foot-long, gleaming metal, glinting cruelly in the midday light. "These ain't toys neither, you know. The idea is to learn to use 'em properly, to help instead o' hurt."

The boy's eyes never traveled from the claws in front on his eyes, and he reached out a hand to touch the tip of one. "Wow…"

__

Snakt! "Careful, kiddo, they're sharp!" Logan retracted the claws and grabbed the kid's hand, but he'd only pricked his finger. It was hardly bleeding.

"Noticed," the kid said absently, still preoccupied. "So you think I outta let 'em grow then?"

"Oui, petite homme, dat's exactly what you should do," came a soft-accented voice from the kitchen door, and Toby swung around to see Remy, Bobby and Hank crammed into the doorframe. 

"Hey!" the boy protested. "No fair!"

"Never said we'd be fair, kiddo," said Bobby impudently, following Hank into the rec room. Hank examined the boy's nails, and nodded slowly.

"I thought something along these lines. You have somewhat accelerated healing powers, but they aren't as fast as they would be, thanks to your youth. However, if they'd been any slower, you would be dead a thousand times over. Those scars… you have lost a lot of blood. Claws and a healing factor…" Hank tapped his lip thoughtfully. 

"Well at least we know those scars aren't permanent then," murmured Bobby.

Remy, however, had a horrible suspicion growing in his mind, and from the look on Logan's face, he could tell he wasn't the only one. "Henri," he said distantly, "do dem powers remind you of anyone we know?"

"Apart from Logan? No, I… oh." Hank's face went white under the fur.

Bobby ran nerveless fingers over his suddenly dry mouth. "Oh no…"

Toby couldn't understand why everyone suddenly seemed so serious, or why Remy stared at his hands with an expression of hatred in his red eyes.

He sat out on the veranda, the breeze ruffling his unruly blond hair and whipping his grubby white T-shirt around his skinny frame. His hands absently wrung themselves over and over, the lengthening nails biting into his palms. Hank had taken a small sample of his blood to analyze, but they still wouldn't tell him why they seemed so worried. And he had had such a good feeling about this place two hours ago. He could feel the tight surgical gauze around his chest when he sighed.

"Why so great a sigh, young one?" came a gentle voice behind him. His head whipped around, to see a willowy black woman of extraordinary beauty with long white hair walking towards him. 

"Hi," he said, but it didn't carry a note of his usual enthusiasm. "Just thinking, I guess."

"You must be Toby. I am Ororo," she said gently, sitting down next to him. She moved with such uncanny grace, it was all he could do not to stare. "What are you thinking about?"

"Stuff," he replied after some thought, his elfin face serious. Then he blurted out, "do you know why they're all worried about me?"

"I suspect they are concerned for your well-being," she said, unperturbed.

"No, that's not it," he shook his head in emphasis. "Everything was cool until I talked to that Mister Logan guy, and now they act almost scared of me."

Ororo's perfect brow furrowed. "What did you talk to Logan about?"

"These," he showed her his hands, and her immaculate eyebrows raised at the sight of the cut off claws. "And then Mister Hank said he thought I had a healing factor. Then they got all squirrelly on me when Mister Remy said it was like some other guy's powers."

"Oh," she let out a breath. "I see."

"You don't know why, do you? I was just thinking that it could be nice here, and now…" he shrugged helplessly, a dull look in his blue eyes.

"Well," she put her bare arm around his shoulders, preparing him. She was somewhat surprised to feel the bones of his shoulders sticking into her flesh. How underfed was this boy? "There is a man, a mutant, called Victor Creed…"

He listened, growing more horrified by the instant, before the sniffles over came him and he cried into the stranger's shoulder.

"Well, unless Mendel was a complete imbecile, that boy's father was Victor Creed," concluded Hank sadly. Charles Xavier leaned back in his chair, his eyes wide. 

"My god…" he croaked, then he shook his head. "All the more reason for us to protect him. Have you any idea of the amount of people who will want to kill the son for the sins of the father?"

Hank's breath caught in his throat. "Absolutely, sir. I should have thought of that myself."

Charles looked at the silent Wolverine standing in the corner, a cigar wedged between his teeth. "And you, Logan," he said quietly, "can you put away your emnity for Sabretooth to help protect this innocent? Can Remy?"

Logan didn't move for a long moment, before taking the cigar out of his mouth and looking straight at Xavier. "Thought you knew me better than that, Chuck."

Xavier resisted the urge to smile.

"Can't speak fer Gumbo though," he added. "Or Betts. Or Wings fer that matter. Hell, how many people are there that want Creed's head?"

"Not enough," growled Hank.

"Toby's a good kid. An' remember, if Creed's his pa, I can teach him," said Logan confidently. "We're bound to be ridiculously similar."

"God help us all," murmured Charles. "So we are agreed? We shall tell the boy of his parentage – it is his right after all. But we shall not shun him because of it. That goes against everything we stand for, everything I have ever dreamed for. And besides," his eyes twinkled, "I am of the opinion that he takes after his mother."

Hank consulted his findings. "We don't know who his mother was, Charles."

"Exactly."

"'Ro?"

"Shh," Ororo cradled the sleeping boy in her arms. He had cried himself into oblivion, his tears falling thick and fast before sleep gave him respite. "The boy is asleep."

Logan looked somehow offended. "I'm always quiet, 'Ro."

"I know, my friend," she smiled. "I was but teasing you."

"You cracked a joke? Astonishing." He sat down beside her and looked at the boy who whimpered in his sleep. Ororo smoothed down the blond hair, which escaped and blew free, as fine as silk. "He's been crying."

"He has had a rather eventful day." She sighed then. "I told him about Sabretooth. He is an intelligent child. Is it true?"

Logan nodded slowly, and Ororo's eyes dropped. "Goddess."

"It's okay, 'Ro. Chuck said we're to keep the boy here. An' I don't got no problem with Creed's son. It's Creed himself I want." He laughed, a soft ugly little laugh, then his face relaxed again. "Truth be told, I kinda like the kid. Don't know about the Cajun, though – you know what he's like with grudges."

"I am afraid you may be right, my friend."

"What's dat, Stormy?" Footsteps on the wooden verandah heralded Remy's approach. The boy's eyes flickered and opened, and he yawned, his razor sharp teeth glinting, before he noticed his audience. Remy's eyes were flat and cold.

"Oh…" said the boy weakly.

"Remy…" Storm began, but the Cajun cut her off.

"Ca va, Toby?" he asked intently, his eyes calculating as they seemed to devour the boy's face.

"Um, what's that mean?" asked the sleep-befuddled boy, his expression confused as his attention wandered from the grim-faced Cajun to the encouraging looks on the faces of Logan and Ororo. 

"It means, how are you, Toby," said Storm with a gentle smile.

"Oh. I'm okay, Mister Remy. I'm terrible sad, though," said Toby with a brave little smile. 

The Cajun's expression remained impassive. Poker-faced, thought Logan grimly. "An' why's dat?"

"Cos I'm gonna have to go, an' it's nice here." The boy fumbled for his feet, before standing up and yawning again. "Nice to meet you, guys."

"What? Why must you go?" asked Ororo, startled.

He looked at her as if he was surprised she'd failed to grasp the evident. "Well, from what you said, my pa was this evil man who killed heaps of people, and I gotta go before I get like him and hurt you guys."

"Toby, you are nothing like your father, nothing!" Ororo's tone was strident. "And I refuse to let you go."

"What's this?" asked Hank, wandering out and squinting in the dying sunlight.

Ororo stood, her eyes meeting Remy's. "Toby feels he has to leave because of his parentage."

"What?!"

"Precisely."

"Kid, you ain't been here a whole day yet," said Logan complacently. "Stick around the night an' see how you feel about it tommorrow."

"You haven't even met Rogue yet," said Hank with a sly sidelong look at Remy, who scowled.

"Please, Toby," coaxed Storm. "I promise you, none of us will discard you because of who your father is. I promise."

"Really." The boy's expression was sardonic as he looked at the silently fuming Gambit.

"Toby, this is Kurt. Elf, meet Toby. He'll be stickin' around a while."

Toby was now tagging after Wolverine, his mood subdued. He'd met a tall, grumpy man named Cable – what kind of a name was Cable? – an openly hostile man named Warren who had wings, and a friendly, beautiful lady called Jean who was the wife of Mister Scott. Toby always seemed to think of Cyclops as Mister Scott, for some reason.

Nightcrawler ran a hand over his indigo face. He'd been through a particularly strenuous workout in the danger room just previously, and the sweat had made rivulets in his silky fur. "Guten tag, Toby," he said, smiling. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," said Toby after some consideration. "You know, you look like me except you're blue and have a tail."

"I do, don't I," said Kurt, amused, and he ruffled the boy's hair with his long two-fingered hand. "Now why do you suppose that is?"

Toby thought about it. "Was your dad Sabretooth too?" he asked finally. 

Kurt sucked in a quick breath and darted a quick look at Logan, who nodded solemnly, then shrugged. "No, mein freund. My father was a count and my mother was Mystique." He looked pensive for a moment. "Strange how I have not thought about that for so long."

"Why not?" pressed the boy. Something about this dexterous, agile man's past called to him, as like to like. 

Kurt smiled. "Mystique is a villain, like your father. I have cut myself off from her irrevocably, as she had done to me. She is not part of my life, despite the fact that she gave me life. Someday, I pray god, I will be able to forgive her."

"That's what I'll do then," said Toby decisively, his face set in adolescent determination. "I'll cut myself off from my father." He looked inquisitively up at Logan. "Would that help?"

"Might," agreed Logan. "Have ta see, though."

The boy sighed. "I was afraid of that." He itched at the gauze under his shirt. "They always itch when they're gettin' better," he complained.

"Don't scratch it," advised Logan. "Leave it alone."

His hand dropped down involuntarily, and Kurt noted with astonishment the sharp, lengthening claws that adorned it. "Mein Gott…"

Toby followed his gaze and sighed. 

"Don't worry, kid. People will get used ta it in time." He shot a smirk at Kurt. "As I recall, took about five years ta get used ta me, didn't it Elf?"

"Six," Kurt retorted, and both men laughed. Toby found himself smiling, despite himself.

"C'mon, kid. See ya round, Elf."

"Bye, mister Kurt!" Toby called over his shoulder, scurrying after Logan.

"Goodbye, my young friend!" Kurt smiled at the boy before he turned a corner, and the smile abruptly vanished, replaced by a worried look. Sabretooth's son. Mein Gott.

"Where we going now?" Toby puffed as he trailed after Logan. Wolverine did not so much walk as stalk, his legs striding silently and in regular rhythm. It was all the boy could do to keep two paces behind him. 

"I thought you might wanna go meet the ladies," said Logan with a grin, taking a cigar from his back pocket.

"There's lots?"

Logan chuckled. "Ambitious boy. This way."

He led Toby towards a smaller rec room with a definite feminine touch to the décor. A woman lay curled up on a plush sofa reading a book, the sunlight falling across her face and legs. A bright white stripe ran through her otherwise brown hair, and her occupied eyes were green. Another woman sat at a desk, a frown marring her beautiful face as she typed at a computer. Her hair was a deep purple, and a red tattoo ran over her eye. "Rogue, Betts," Logan greeted them. "Got someone fer you ta meet."

Rogue's eyes lifted to meet Toby's innocent blue ones, and she smiled. Toby found himself grinning back. Her smile seemed to light up the entire room, it was so open and radiant. "Why, who's this little critter?" she asked. There was a warm southern twang to her speech that irrationally soothed Toby into confidence.  
"Hi! I'm Toby," he said, taking a step out from behind Logan.

Psylocke pushed away from the desk, her eyes curious. "Orphan," Logan explained in his customary brusque manner. "Needs a place to crash."

"Not quite an orphan no more," said Toby softly, but Rogue was unfolding herself from the sofa, and moving towards him. _Wow!_

"C'mere, sugah," she said imperiously, though her eyes were twinkling. "Ah wanna hug."

Toby looked up at Logan involuntarily, and met a grin and a knowing gaze. He restrained the urge to blush bright purple, and almost fell on his way into the woman's arms. 

She was so warm. Suddenly, he didn't want anyone to know about who his father was, he didn't want this sweet, beautiful creature to know what he could become. He gritted his teeth. Why did it have to happen to _him?_

Rogue closed her eyes, and a beatific smile crossed her lips. Toby was so elfin and pale and bright, and the child snuggled so well into her arms. A sad sigh escaped her, and she met Logan's eyes. He dropped his, knowing how much she wanted this for her very own, and how she would never be able to have it.

Toby looked up at her as the sigh rocked her slim body. "Whassup, miss Rogue?"

"Nothin', sugah. Just chewing over some old hopes." She smiled down at him. "Now you tell me what had you lookin' so sad an' down when you stepped into this here room."

"Oh, I guess it isn't much," he said, embarrassed. 

"Bull," said Logan flatly. Toby thought better than of giving him a death glare. "The kid just found out that he's Sabretooth's son."

Toby closed his eyes. Bye-bye, hugs, bye-bye, beautiful smile…

"Really? Aw, poor kid." The hug tightened. Toby's eyes snapped open. _Double wow!_ "That's about the biggest bummer I've ever heard."

"Isn't it just," said Betsy unemotionally, and Toby pulled away from Rogue to stare at her.

"Now, Betts, if _I_ can look past the father – who by the way left his son to be almost killed by mutant haters – why can't you?" asked Logan reasonably.

"What does Remy think of this? And Warren?" she asked in that same curt tone.

"Wings don't give a damn. He's a good kid. Gumbo…" Logan spread his hands in exasperation. 

Toby met Rogue's eyes, and stood up. Those green pools were still accepting, but they were worried. He was beginning to realize that he had to do something about this growing prejudice concerning his father. "Excuse me," he said politely, then went to stand before the seated Betsy. "Hi. My name is Toby. I got these," he indicated his claws, teeth and ears, "from my pa. I also got this." He yanked off his shirt again and used his claws to economically shred the gauze from his body.

Betsy gasped involuntarily, Rogue cried out, and a low rumble emanated from Logan. Toby indicated the words scrawled across his back. "They did all sorts of stuff to me, cos they knew that in few weeks I'd all be better. They broke my spine, once. I couldn't move for two months. I bit these off," he held up his hand and regarded the claws clinically. "I bit them off every day and night, cos they grew back. I didn't talk for days. An' I didn't smile either, cos o' my teeth." He scratched a healing scar on his ribs reflectively. "Didn't stop them though, so I ran away. My pal Joey tole me that his brother had heard about this place, an' he gave me directions. That's who I am. I don't have anything to do with my pa. I've…" his button nose screwed up as he tried to remember the term, "…_disowned_ him," he finished decisively.

"Glad to hear dat, homme," came a drawl from behind Logan, and Gambit sauntered in. "Jus' comin' over t' visit Rogue, mon ami," he winked at the shorter man, before turning and looking down at the half-clad boy dispassionately.

Toby stared back at him, without flinching under that steady ruby gaze.

"Remy…" said Rogue warningly, and Betsy stood up, obviously discarding her instinct to distrust the boy.

"Well, y' got no end o' champions, homme," said Remy dryly, before dropping to his haunches. Toby's eyes had not moved from Gambit's. "Let's have a look at dese, den." Remy took the boy's hand by the wrist and examined the re-growing claws. Then he seemed to notice the crisscrossed network of scars that covered the boy. "Sapristi. Dese can do dat to you? What'll dey do to anyone else?" he accused.

"I didn't do this to me," said the boy levelly, "if you'd been listening, mister Remy, you'd know that." Toby was suddenly angry. "You really think I'd try to strangle myself? Write across my own back?"

Remy's eyes darted to the boy's throat, lingering over the bruises. "Write across your back?"

Toby yanked his hand back. "Yeah." He turned around. "Write into my back."

"'Die mutie,'" read Remy, his mouth suddenly dry. "Jesus fuck…"

Toby turned back to face him. The other three people in the room were perfectly still, as if they knew that this was Toby's move. "You really want to know what these can do to anyone else?" he asked softly in his choral treble, lisping slightly over his overdeveloped teeth. 

There was an intake of breath from his rapt audience as Toby raised his small, slender hand.

Then the boy doubled over, laughing. 

Logan blinked, and then felt a little foolish, before starting to laugh also, joined by chuckles from Rogue and a bell-like peal from Betsy. Remy stood up, his angry face florid, but he was stopped by Logan's hand on his shoulder. "Ah, give it up, bub," he chortled, wiping tears from his eyes. "You shoulda seen the look on yer face!"

Remy looked taken aback at that, before he started to grin somewhat ruefully. "Four X-Men bein' terrorized by a thirteen year old boy is a bit much, non?" he said, abashed. He glanced down at the boy who was on his back with the hiccups from laughing too hard, Rogue and Betsy grinning foolishly at his hilarity which was somehow contagious. "I t'ink I owe him an apology."

"That you do, bub." Logan flicked his cigar into an ashtray and clapped the Cajun on the shoulder. "But don't worry. He ain't the kind to keep a grudge."

"Oui," Gambit rolled his eyes at his own obstinate pride, before moving back towards the boy. "Toby," he said to the hiccuping boy. "Dis Cajun's sorry. Y' never have to worry 'bout dat kinda crap from me again, y'hear?"

Toby nodded solemnly, then hiccuped. Remy grinned. 

"Y'know, I teach you right, you can be a master swindler by de time you finish puberty…"

"So you got a room, sugah?"

It was dinnertime, and the assembled X-Men sat around the long dining room table. Unsurprisingly, the professor sat at the head of the table, and mister Scott sat to his right. Toby sat on a pile of cushions on top of a chair between Remy and Storm. Miss Rogue sat two seats down, next to Remy, and it was making him nervous.

What was making the assembled X-Men nervous was watching the boy eat. Cutlery was an afterthought; he tore through his food like it had insulted him. His claws and teeth proved remarkably dexterous, and he ate more meat than Logan customarily did. He was finished in record time, and sat drinking milk through a straw while the others finished, his eyes downcast. He was ashamed of his messy meals, and understood the effect it must have had on his new benefactors. So Rogue's gentle question came as an oblique way of reassuring him.

His large blue eyes jerked up and left, towards her. "Nope," he mumbled around the straw.

Charles gave an annoyed look to Scott, who had the grace to look abashed.

"Well, we got a fair few spare rooms, don't we guys?" Rogue's brow furrowed. "Lessee now, there's two spares between Bishop an' Remy, there's the spare room in the attic next t' Storm, there's … Peter's old room, there's that old room between Hank an' Logan, an' Ah reckon there's another near me," she mused. "Y' wanna pick one, sugah?"

"Sure." He seemed dreadfully quiet.

Remy thought he understood. "Don' worry, mon ami," he whispered to the boy. "We're all slowpokes when it comes t' food."

At the other end of the table, Logan chortled. "Speak fer yerself, Cajun. I can beat that kid with ten seconds ta spare."

"Excuse me? Not all of us have enhanced hearing," began Warren, but the boy was looking down at Logan, sizing him up, a grin spreading on his face.

"Oh yeah?" he said softly, knowing that the Canadian could hear him.

"Yeah!" said Logan emphatically, his eyes twinkling. Then they both laughed.

"I give up," said Warren in disgust. 

"Well?" whispered Toby, eyeing the food.

Logan laughed again. "Where do ya put it? Yer as thin as a rake. Nah, tommorrow night, kiddo. An' I warn yer, I'm the best."

Toby's eyebrow shot up, and the rest of the table groaned. "So maybe you are, but do you have to be so… complacent about it?" asked Cable in a surly tone.

"Lighten up, my cantankerous, cross and crabby friend," said Hank, waving a fork lightheartedly. "Your face won't break. I should know. I'm a doctor."

Cable only grunted and turned his full attention back to his steak. 

"Ah'm done. That was great, Jean," said Rogue, pushing herself back from the table.

"Thank-you, Missus Jean," said Toby automatically. 

Jean beamed at him. Such a polite boy… apart from table manners that is. "Please, Toby, just call me Jean."

"Okay then." Toby grinned tentatively back at her, leaning forwards in his chair, then winced. 

Jean blinked, telepathically gleaning the matter. "Oh. Hurts, huh?"

He nodded.

She smiled gently at him. "Sleep on your stomach tonight, while it heals a bit."

Hank looked up. "The… writing?"

Jean and Toby nodded, the latter wincing once more. Hank sighed. "I'll get some more of that cream."

"It itches," Toby complained softly, "but I can't scratch it. Mister Logan said so."

Jean's eyes met Logan's, her expression amused. "Mister Logan, huh? Well, he's absolutely right. Scratching just makes it worse."

She didn't need to add, 'especially for you." Toby looked miserably down at his hands. "I'm gonna chop 'em off again," he muttered.

"No, don't do that!" said Logan sternly, startling the people sitting beside him. "You need t' learn to use 'em. If ya do it properly, you'll have 'em when you need 'em, and you'll be able to do everything else without hurtin' yerself or no-one else."

"But how?" he asked, his small face almost twisted in indecision. "Last time they grew I couldn't do anything! _And_ I hurt another boy at the orphanage by accident - he fell over and I helped pick him up. I never meant to hurt him. I hate them!" And he buried his face in his hated hands, his blond mop of hair cascading down.

"Sugah…"

"No. I'm gonna cut them off," he muttered, pushing himself off his chair. "Then no-one'll be scared of me no more, and I won't hurt nobody." His elfin face resolute, he pushed his chair in under the table neatly, thanked Jean again, and carried his plate out to the kitchen. The assembled X-Men became extraordinarily interested in their meals under the weight of Logan's glare.

"That's it," he said, disgusted, after searching every face. "I'm goin' after him."

"No, Logan, Ah will," said Rogue somberly. "Ah have a feelin' Ah can handle this better than you, honey."

"Rogue…"

"Stay put, Mister Logan." She smiled at him, and he subsided, grumbling some choice oaths under his breath. "An' Ah hope y'all are proud of yerselves," she said accusingly to the rest, before sweeping out of the dining room.

"Merde," said Remy in a coarse whisper.

"You said it, Cajun."

"Toby? Toby, it's me, Rogue."

"Go away please, miss Rogue. I would really like to be alone right now."

"Ah bet, but Ah'm not goin' nowhere." Rogue studied the drainpipe. He must have climbed up using that. Agile boy. Well, with her strength, she couldn't afford to bust the mansion's plumbing. Thank god she had another option. Sailing into the sky, she could see him perched on the roof, very close to Remy's favourite 'angst' spot. The moonlight glinted on his unruly halo of pale hair, and his arms were held tightly across his waist, the hands clenched. He looked so confused - and then Rogue sighed. He _would_ be confused, after the day he'd just had. He'd escaped to save his skin to a place which seemed a veritable haven, only to find the occupants of that haven wary of him because of a father he'd never known and wanted nothing to do with. His confusion and anger self-contained, he had nothing to lash out at but himself – and what better target than the most obvious and dangerous evidence of his mutancy? 

She settled down next to him, her hair escaping its tie in the strong night wind. He said nothing, his gaze remaining locked on the grounds below. She drew her knees up against her chest, her green eyes compassionate as she looked down at his bowed blond head.

"Y'know, Ah really hate mah powers," she said conversationally. "Ah cain't control 'em, an' Ah cain't ever touch another human bein' because of them. Used ta be that Ah was a villain like your pa. That really helped me gain a lotta trust when Ah came here fer help." She laughed sardonically, remembering those first painful months. "But sooner or later, they began t' trust me. Took a long time, actually. Ah still hate mah powers, an' Ah still cain't control them, but they helped in other ways. Now Ah got a family." Her arm rested around his thin, shaking shoulders. It seemed that the pent-up emotions inside him were too big for his diminutive body. "Think about it, sugah. Every time Ah touch another person, Ah could kill them. At the very least, Ah take their memories an' their powers. It's incredibly dangerous, so Ah gotta be careful. You're the same way. You got one hell of a power there, honey, an' we don't even know what all of it is yet, cos you ain't old enough, Ah reckon. But you gotta be careful. You gotta learn, same as Ah did, not to hurt no-one." She sighed. "Ah wish Ah didn't have mah powers, but Ah do. An' Ah've learned to deal with that. You gotta do the same, Toby."

As if his new name had broken a dam, Toby leaned into her, his head burrowing under her arm. She could feel him shake. "There, there," she said soothingly. Her warm rich voice gentled him, as he fought to keep the tears from falling.

"I'm not gonna cry, miss Rogue," he muttered. "I already cried once today. I'm not gonna cry."

"Sugah, it's just fine to cry, believe me," she said softly, lifting his chin with one gloved finger. His elfin face was blotchy, and contrary to his vehemence, there were tears glistening in his glorious blue eyes. "Sometimes, Ah look at the world, and if Ah didn't laugh, Ah know Ah'd be cryin' mah heart out. So y' gotta laugh, Toby. You look like a boy who knows how."

"I don't want this," he whispered through clenched teeth, staring at his clawed hand which held hers. The nails had lengthened once more, now at least an inch long, and thickening. 

"You're too young fer this," she murmured. "Far too young t' have t' deal with it. But sugah, Ah know that you're strong enough. Ah can tell."

"I'm not strong enough, and I don't wanna," he whispered, his breath coming more raggedly as the tears renewed their assault.

"Yes, y'are, hon. Ah know it." She gathered him close again, and his shaking subsided a little. "You got a responsibility, Toby. You got these powers of yours fer a reason. Now you have to learn to use 'em, before they stop being a responsibility an' start bein' an excuse. You don't have t' like it, if that helps any," she added with more than a touch of bitter humour. 

"I don't!"

"That's okay."

"I hate it!"

"So do Ah."

"Why couldn't I be…"

She sighed. "Normal? Sugah, half mah life all Ah've wanted was t' be normal. It ain't ever gonna happen though, so Ah've learned to deal. You're young, but you gotta learn to deal too. It's the only way to laugh again."

"Laugh," he growled, his choral voice making his tone more than a trifle unsettling. "I wish…"

"Ah know."

"I'm not going to cry. I'm _not._"

"You can if you wanna, Toby."

"Toby Creed," he spat hoarsely. "Yesterday I din't even have a name."

"Now you got a family, sugah."

The tears revived their siege, and this time, Toby knocked down the barricades and let them take over. Rogue patted his head as he sobbed, wishing that she had, in fact, learned to deal.

His eyes were still red when he came back into the mansion, holding Rogue's hand, but no-one made any comment about it. She led him into the main rec room and sat down on the floor in front of the TV, and after a moment's indecision, so did he. His knees drawn up and his hands around his calves, the X-Men could see that he had on a pair of Rogue's reinforced gloves, and somehow that made them feel worse. 

__

Merde, thought Gambit gloomily, _what a way to begin. Well done, LeBeau, you idiot._

The TV blared out the news as they sat in uncomfortable silence.

__

"Earlier this week, a suspected mutant terrorist attack injured one human and two mutants in the east side of Manhattan. Police inquiries continue.

"And in related news, the X-Men have been seen operative in New York once more. Citizens are reminded that vigilantism is illegal in the United States of America. The group of mutant 'super-heroes' were seen two days ago by a bystander at the aforementioned raid."

The screen flickered from the grim-faced blonde reading the news to a pallid man in a suit standing on a street corner, a hat pulled firmly down on his head and his small eyes vehement as he spoke into a news microphone. "Yup, they were over at the offices of the Federal Bureau of Information tryin' to flush out them terrorists. It's the first time in about four months they've been seen in action again, I think…"

Logan snorted, popping open a beer can. "We've been in Russia, you flamin' moron."

__

That made Toby sit up and take notice.

"… but they ended up destroying the building and the terrorists got away. Seems they're getting out of practice."

There was a mutter of indignation from everyone in the room. The screen flickered again to display rough footage of a band of brightly clad people fighting other brightly clad people, rescuing civilians and repairing buildings. The newscaster's voice droned over it.

__

"The X-Men have been operative in Russia four the last four months…"

"Jeez, _thank_-you. At least someone…"

"Shut up, Wolvie."

__

"…but have returned to thwart the Brotherhood once more. They have the gratitude of the New York City Council for securing the files within the New York Branch of the Federal Bureau of Information, which are of paramount import for the security of our nation."

"Was that a thank-you I just heard?" asked Bobby cynically.

"The closest they can get to it," sniffed Hank, as he watched himself scurry across the screen. 

"Oh, that was well done, Hank."

He looked gratified. "Thank-you, Robert."

"Do you two clowns want to stop congratulating yourselves?" asked Wolverine acidly, then he stopped and everyone in the room crowed. "Aw hell… I hate TV."

Toby watched the screen in fascination. The man in yellow and blue who was undoubtedly Mister Logan moved with animal grace, snarling somewhat as he drove his claws with incredible precision against the concerted attack of two other mutants… a blue woman with red hair and a blond, shaggy monster.

A blond shaggy monster… "Miss Rogue?"

"Hmm? Yes, sugah?"

"Who's the blond man?"

Silence fell throughout the room. Someone coughed. "Er…" began Rogue. 

Logan stood up. "I'll handle it, Rogue. The rest of you can keep gawkin' at my paces."

"Ah don't think it's yer paces, Wolvie," said Rogue with a grin, and Logan rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, Toby."

"Yes, Mister Logan," Toby stood up, his eyes travelling back to the television. Mister Logan had felled the blond giant, but as he watched, the wounds marginally closed. "Coming."

Logan led him down the hall, his heeled boots making no sound whatsoever on the wooden floorboards. He ushered him into a room, which, judging from the look of it, was his own. A bed, a table, an ashtray filled with cigar stubs, a wardrobe, a hat on the bedhead. It was remarkably well-ordered and even military, but at the same time comfortable. "Sit down, kid."

Toby hoisted himself up onto the bed, while Logan lit another cigar and sat down on the only chair in the room. "Y'see…"

"That man was my pa, wasn't he?"

Logan closed his eyes. The boy was unwholesomely clever. "Yep. That was Sabretooth."

"And you hurt him with those claws of yours?" The boy's tone wasn't angry, rather curious. His blue eyes were disconcertingly trusting.

"Yeah. 'Course, I could practically make it my hobby, the number of times we've thrown down," admitted Logan.

"Could you teach me how to do that?" Now Toby's tone was eager, and a little edgy. The boy pulled off one of the gloves and looked down at his claws. "Fight him like that?"

Whoa. New territory. "I think yer a little young…"

"Oh I know that," Toby dismissed that argument with a wave of his claws. Logan's eyes followed them involuntarily. "When I'm old enough, I'm gonna get him back for leaving me in that place."

Yeah. Ridiculously similar. "I think I might be able to help with that," said Logan slyly, a grin starting to creep across his face. 

"Good." The boy's piping choral voice was satisfied, his eyes as hard as sapphire as he tested his claws against the palm of his hand. Then he leaned forward, ignoring the twinge as his healing back stretched against the reapplied gauze. "What do you know about him?"

Logan sighed. "Oh boy."

"Jean?"

"Yes, Rogue?" 

"How's he doing?"

A pause. "He's fascinated. Logan's telling him stories."

__

"Logan?"

"About Sabretooth. Toby's decided he's going to teach his father a lesson."

"Oh!"

"Well, he's gone to the number one authority, then."

"Bobby! That's… true."

"Somehow, that isn't very reassuring, Jean."

"Don't worry about it, Scott. This is probably the best way to convince him to learn to use his mutation."

"I guess. But…"

"Hmm?"

"Sabretooth's son, trained by Wolverine. That is _not_ a very reassuring concept."

"Sugah, Ah'm ashamed at you. He's just a boy!"

"He'll get bigger."

"Scott, honey, you worry too much. It'll be fine. Plus, I think Logan's VERY aware of that fact right now."

"Then why is he doing it?"

"Think about it, Slim. The boy has never trusted himself. He needs someone to trust him, before that can happen. This whole 'heck, your dad's an evil rabid maniac' thing isn't helping. Logan's probably the best one to take the kid under his wing. After all, they are pretty much alike."

"True, Bobby… but…"

"I know. It STILL isn't very reassuring."

Toby found himself swept up in a world of hate and betrayal, of espionage and experimentation. He stared in mounting awe at the short burly man who regaled these often horrific adventures with a kind of prosaic bluntness. "And so you an' my pa were part of a team as well as a big experiment?" he asked after Logan had finished telling him about Weapon X. 

"Yep. Don't know what they did to him though, apart from stuff up his memories."

Toby blinked for a bit. "What did they do to you?"

Logan laughed caustically. "Filled me with metal an' wiped my head."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Not fun. I've spent most of my life trying to find out who I was. Even thought Creed was my pa at one stage. Felt pretty much the same way you do about it."

"Angry? Confused?" said Toby softly. "Scared?"

"You better believe it. Petrified." That made Toby blink even more. This man – scared?

"What else? I mean, what other stuff has he done?"

"Take a number," Logan said dryly. "He's worked fer the meanest scum around. Almost killed Betsy. Took part in a massacre that wiped out an entire community of mutants. I don't wanna even think about the times he's nearly cleaned my clock. Not that I don't give back with interest," he added with a note of satisfaction, puffing on his cigar. "Lessee now, he's worked fer Sinister, Magneto, Mystique an' Apocalypse. That's one hell of a resume. Between him an' Yuriko Oyama, I been kept on my toes fer years."

"Is he… anything like me?" asked Toby hesitantly. As much as he wanted this question answered, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. At all.

Logan's eyes snapped back to him from whatever battle they had been visiting. "Well," he began slowly, "Yer not much like him ta look at yet. Creed's a big bastard, with yellow cat eyes an' a thick jaw." He tipped his head on the side. "Same hair, though. An' same teeth, ears an' fingernails o' course."

Toby winced.

"But apart from that, yer nothin' alike. Yer a curious, but generally good kid. Creed would rather kill someone than look at him. Easier fer him. He's a tall, heavy guy too. Yer practically as runty as me." Logan laughed cynically at that. "Nah, you ain't much like him at all."

Toby assimilated that information with the methodical, irrational processes of a child. "Good."

"And of course, the biggest difference of all is that you're scared of who you are," he added.

Toby inhaled, his blue eyes wounded, then they dropped to the floor. "I-I know. But… I don' wanna be like him though."

Logan smiled. "You ain't. Didn't you just listen to what I've been tellin' you?" He leaned forward and took Toby's hand by the wrist, examining the now fully regrown claws. "These are makin' you scared. They shouldn't. They're part of you, an' you oughta learn to use 'em. If yer careful, you should be able to do everything anybody else can, an' a few things they can't."

Toby regarded his hand with a sort of new fascination, before turning his disconcerting gaze onto Logan. "So all I gotta do is be careful."

"Exactly. Now, how's about you yank that other glove off, an' we go back to the rec room? I left half a beer in there."

Rogue was astonished at the change in Toby when he came back to the television with Logan. His head was held up and his hands were bare, but he held the gloves carefully. She turned to Logan, who was regarding her with a twinkle in his eye. Solemnly, he winked, then went back to his beer with the single-mindedness he displayed in everything. She smothered a grin, holding her arms out to the boy who was deciding where to sit.   
"C'mere, sugah," she said, smiling. 

"Yes, miss Rogue," he said automatically, before grinning rather sheepishly and running to hug her. Over the mass of his flyaway blond hair, she could see Jean, Bobby and Hank smiling. "Here," he said, after he'd pulled away a little to lean against her side. He handed her the gloves, very carefully keeping his claws clear. "I'm not gonna need 'em no more. Thank-you anyway."

"What brought about the change o' heart, Toby?" she asked, pushing the gloves into a pocket.

Toby's eyes darted to where Logan sat. "I got told a few things. An' mister Logan is gonna teach me to use 'em."

Logan snorted. "He wants to carve up his pa like I do. Heck, Creed could make a good livin' as a punchin' bag."

"Doesn't he anyway?" murmured Bobby, rewarded by an amused look from Hank. 

"You got yerself a fan club, sugah?" teased Rogue, causing Scott to choke on his drink and Jean to erupt into giggles. Logan shot them his second best scowl.

"You're gonna be a bad influence, _miss_ Rogue," he accused.

"Me? Don't be hypocritical," sniffed Rogue, as Logan grumbled and turned back to his contemplation of his beer.

"Is there a 'Banter School' I somehow neglected to attend?" asked Bobby as Rogue smirked.

"You probably failed the entrance examination."

"Scotty! That's…"

"Valid."

"Blue!"

Toby listened to their repartee until his eyes grew heavy. He was extraordinarily comfortable, and the voices around him soothing now rather than hostile. He could hear Rogue's laughter through her body, and it reassured him somewhat as his eyes closed, then opened. He was so very comfortable…

"Rogue…"

"Hmm?" Rogue turned her head from needling Hank to look at Storm, who had a small half-smile on her face. 

"Look. Our young charge is asleep."

Rogue looked down at the sleeping blond head against her shoulder, and a strange look came into her eyes. "He's so beautiful…" she murmured, then she looked up at Scott. "Did you decide where he was gonna sleep?"

Scott restrained the urge to swear. "I was going to let him do that," he explained, a disgusted expression crossing his face under his heavy sunglasses.

"Should we wake him up, then?" asked Bobby, but Rogue was shaking her head. 

"Ah'll pop him in the closest spare room, which Ah think is the one between Hank an' Wolvie. He can decide in the morning."

Gathering him in her virtually indestructible, untouchable arms, she flew out in a smooth gentle arc. No-one had the courage to look at her face as she left.

Waking up was a languid process, and one he had every intention of enjoying. The slow luxurious crawl back to consciousness took over half an hour, and by the time his brain got around to informing him that he was awake, the sun was shining in his eyes.

Mumbling a bit to himself, he pushed himself up onto his elbows. He was in a strange bed in a strange room… and then it all came flooding back.

"I wish I'd stayed asleep," he groaned, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and carefully putting a hand to his back. The scratches were a lot better this morning.

He wrinkled his nose as his sense of smell got a load of what he was wearing – the same clothes he'd worn yesterday. "Bleaugh!"

"You up, kiddo?"

__

Mister Logan, said his brain helpfully. He rubbed his fuzzy eyes cautiously with his knuckles, and wandered out into the hall. "Yeah, mister Logan. Morning."

Logan was up and dressed, and from the smell of him, had been outdoors for almost two hours. As Toby had, he wrinkled his nose when he saw him. "You're kinda funky, kiddo."

Toby squirmed a bit. "I know."

Logan laughed. "I bet you do! Forgot you'd have the enhanced senses as well. I think Storm an' Rogue will probably wanna take you shopping for new clothes." He made a face. "In the meantime, ya wanna stand downwind?"

Toby followed Logan to the kitchen, where Hank and Bobby were already seated. The grim-faced man who had been introduced as Bishop was furiously rummaging through a cupboard, and Bobby was sniggering.

"All right, Drake, what've you done now," said Logan tolerantly. Bobby didn't say anything, but his eyes darted to the frantically searching Bishop, and he and Hank started laughing. "Hell, I'm surrounded by mutant adolescents," grumbled Logan as he sat down at the table and reached for the toast. 

Abruptly, Rogue stormed into the kitchen, her face like a thundercloud. "Mornin', y'all," she said briefly before attacking the fridge. Toby blinked, and Logan put a finger to his lips, his eyes wicked. _Just let me do the talking,_ he mouthed, and Toby nodded, bemused.

"Hey Rogue," he said expansively. "What's up?"

"Another fight with Remy's what's up," she said tersely, her back still to him. "Damn it, who drank all the goddamned milk?"

Bobby hurriedly excused himself and fled.

"I was wondering if you an' 'Ro might wanna take the kid shopping," he said innocuously. 

"What's he need?" Rogue still wouldn't turn around, and suddenly Toby understood. She'd fought with Remy about him. Maybe not directly, but indirectly. That made him feel absolutely terrible.

"He needs some clothes, river rat. Look at him. That's all he's got," said Logan reasonably.

Rogue exhaled in exasperation and finally turned to look at the boy, who had an expression of sympathy and guilt on his fine-featured face. Her eyes met his, and he suddenly wanted to apologize for her fight with mister Remy.

"Morning, Miss Rogue," was what he said instead. Rogue's face shifted from emotion to emotion, until with a low cry she gathered the boy up in her arms and hugged him.

"Mornin' Toby," she said, smiling, and he grinned back at her. 

"I'm being careful," he said very seriously, his face important and grave. "I can do anything anyone else can as long as I'm careful. See!" He held up his spoon, which he was holding in such a manner as to not even touch the metal with his talons. 

"Wow! Good on ya, sugah," she gently chucked his chin with her knuckles. It made his eyes spin. "Oops. Guess ah should be more careful too, huh?"

"Y-yeah," he said, trying to discern which way was up. 

"So, we goin' shoppin' today?" She set him down and he clambered up onto his chair again to finish his yoghurt. 

"I s'pose," he said seriously. "I really don't have any clothes, but…" his face twisted with words he couldn't find. 

"You don't want to impose," finished Rogue, and he nodded. "Toby, the professor's a very rich man. The money doesn't mean zip ta him, but seein' you happy does. Capiche?"

He cocked his head, his mouth full of yoghurt. "Wha's Cabeesh?"

"Understood."

"Oh. Yesh, undershtood, mish Rogue."

"And don't talk with your mouth full, honey. It's very rude." Rogue ruffled his hair before turning to breakfast in a far better frame of mind. 

Four hours later, Toby was not nearly so content.

He'd been dragged to what seemed like every shop in the mall, and had tried on thousands of garments. His hair was cut, but it hadn't done any good – it just blew free and messy anyway. _He _could have told them that. And explaining his ears away to the hairdresser had been a little inconvenient. There was an ever-growing pile of bags in the boot of Rogue's little car, and the two women had disagreements about fashion it seemed every few seconds.

"But Rogue…" said Ororo for the millionth time as he stepped out of the changing booth.

"No buts. Aw, c'mon, 'Ro, he looks great! How can you say no?"

"Would it not be better in some other colour?" Storm regarded the sweater thoughtfully. It clashed horribly with his brand new leather gloves that he was wearing in deference to the sensibilities of the general public.

"How can you say that, Storm? He looks great in green!" Rogue positively bubbled. Toby gave an internal sigh. Well, if being the walking talking doll gave miss Rogue any pleasure… he'd most probably do it. But next time, only with fair warning.

"Rogue, green is your favourite colour."

"So we'll get one in every colour. You shoulda seen the budget the professor gave me for this li'l trip. It's huge!" Rogue put her hands on her hips and eyed the sweater thoughtfully. "Turn around, sugah."

He did so with minimal mental grumbling. "Well, it does look good with his jeans."

"Ah told you," said Rogue, beaming.

"But Rogue, he is an active boy, more active than most. His clothes will need to be hardy," said Storm for the zillionth time.

"It's a damn sturdy sweater, Storm. Now quit y' griping, an' let's go buy it!"

Rogue seemed to have an almost unholy satisfaction in whipping out the little piece of plastic that paid for his new clothing, Toby noted. If she were any happier, she'd be giggling. He wrinkled his nose. Now _that_ would be an image.

"Ah need a coffee," said Rogue as soon as they exited that particular shop. Storm rolled her eyes heavenwards, but acquiesced, and they made their clumsy, bag-laden way to the nearest café. 

"Cappuccino, thanks," said Rogue.

"Café latte, thank-you," Storm said after consulting the menu. "Toby?"

"Umm… vanilla milkshake please," he murmured, knowing the effect his voice could have on people.

"What an adorable boy," said the rather plump young waitress, smiling at him. She reached out and ruffled his hair. "Such nice manners. Yours?" she asked Rogue politely.

Rogue looked taken aback, and Storm suddenly found the monogrammed serviettes very interesting. "Er, no," she said.

"He's very cute. What's his name?" She continued to ruffle his hair. Toby felt rather irritated about that. He hadn't had his hair cut just so she could muss it up. Of course, he corrected himself, it did a good job of getting messy all by itself, but that didn't mean she had to speed the process up.

"My name's Toby Creed," he said aloud, and the waitress blinked as she registered his strange voice. Her hand froze on his head, before whipping away.

"You… you got a terribly weird voice there, Toby," she said falteringly.

He grinned at her, giving her ample time to survey his fangs. "I know."

She scurried off with their order. Toby sat back in his seat, feeling much better.

"That was mean, sugah," said Rogue sternly, but she was smiling. He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm not cute," he protested. In fact, he looked so elfin Santa would probably employ him, Rogue thought, but she decided against saying it. 

"Of course not," said Storm with a perfectly straight face.

"I'm _not,"_ he said, his scowl darkening.

Rogue sighed. "Ah think Scott's right about him."

"Oh? What did Scott say?"

"Toby is Wolvie all over again at age thirteen. They're far too similar."

Storm considered that, and then her face blanched. "God help us all. Logan going through puberty."

"That's approximately what Ah was thinkin'."

Toby listened to this exchange half-heartedly. He was flattered that Mister Scott thought he was like Mister Logan and not like his father, but like any boy he was far more interested in the amount of time it took for the café to produce his milkshake. His attention wandered as the two women continued to talk, and was eventually captured by a small playground to the side of the mall. Children younger than his age clambered all over it, shrieking and laughing, their faces unmolested by any serious pain or anguish. He sighed. Had he ever been like that?

Rogue kept talking to Ororo, but her notice was only marginally on the African X-Man. She followed Toby's gaze, and indicated it to Ororo, still talking about the inconsequential. His face was melancholy, belying an experience and an intelligence far older than his meagre years.

"Here you go," and a glass was unceremoniously deposited in front of him. It was the plump waitress, and she handed the two X-Men their coffees before sniffing rather primly at Toby and walking off. 

Toby restrained the urge to poke out his tongue at her back, settling for wrinkling his nose impudently. Rogue laughed.

"Now, sugah…" she began.

"I know, I know, I know." 

"Xavier, have you really thought this through?"

Charles sighed and turned to the man who had brusquely charged into his study and addressed him so bluntly. "Must you always address me as Xavier, Cable? Would 'professor' put too much of a strain on your vocal chords?"

Nathan Dayspring Summers scowled at the sarcasm. "Listen to me, old man. There's a kid living here now."

"I had heard something along those lines, yes," replied Charles dryly. 

"Have you even stopped to think about what it entails? What happens when we're out on a mission? Do we jeopardize the mission and our security by calling in a babysitter? Especially _this_ kid – a normal babysitter won't be able to handle him. So do we take him along? We can't leave him here alone…"

"Was that concern I just heard, Nathan?" asked Charles with a small half smile. Nathan resisted the urge to swear in Askani, settling for crossing his arms and letting his look darken. It never seemed to have the proper effect on Charles Xavier, however. "Toby will attend a normal school environment. And I've made a couple of arrangements with Emma Frost…."

"So he'll be joining Generation X?" cut in Cable, his tone flat. Inwardly, he was a little disappointed, though he would never admit that to anyone. Including himself.

"I didn't say that," said Charles mildly. "In fact, the Massachusetts Academy would be incapable of seeing to Toby's rather… specialized needs. I believe that between Rogue and Wolverine, we have it mostly covered. I've organized for Jubilee to return to the X-Men, active part-time. She'll look after our young friend."

Cable thought about that for a few seconds, and then he sighed. "Well," he said ruefully, "I suspected it was too good to last."

"Can I go play on the swings? Can I? Please?" asked Toby in excitement as they passed the small playground. He was really too old to play on the little kid's gym, but all of a sudden it seemed to represent the childhood he'd never really had. Rogue raised her eyebrows at Storm, who gave an elegant shrug.

"Sure, kiddo, why not?" she said, and the boy whooped and tore off. The fact that the gate was locked didn't deter him one bit – he simply clambered over it, as nimble as a thief.

"You shouldn't do that," came a serious young voice behind him, and Toby skidded to a halt on his charge for the swings to meet the person who had addressed him so solemnly, and give _them _his opinion of 'shouldn't.'

It was a girl, about twelve years old, with chocolate-brown skin and hair, and liquid dark brown eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses. "Why not?" he asked her, surprised.

"Only the gym is supposed to be climbed on," the little nymph told him, her grave face owlish.

"Oh." His indignation dissipated. "Well, I won't do it again. I couldn't almost reach the gate, is all," he added in his own defense. 

She smiled at him. "I'm Gabby," she announced, as if conferring upon him some state secret.

"I'm Toby," he said back, mimicking her tone. "Wanna go play on the swings?"

"'Kay." 

"Race ya!" He darted off. Of course, being a year older than her must have helped when he beat her with a fantastic lead.

"You won," she accused.

"I know," he regarded the swings. "I'll make it up to you. You swing, I'll push."

"All right!" she crowed, sitting herself down. Toby pushed her, making sure he used the palms of his hands against her back. 

"Careful," he muttered to himself. "Anything anyone else can do, s'long as you're careful."

"What ya saying?" called Gabby over her shoulder as her hair flew in the wind. Her glasses were tucked in her pocket.

"Nuthin'. Can I have a go soon?"

"Look, Ororo. Ain't that sweet?" Rogue beamed down at the boy whooping with delight as he swung through the air. 

"Seems he has a companion," remarked Storm. 

Rogue squinted down at the chocolate-haired girl who was pushing 'her boy' on the swing. "She's a cutie too. He's got good taste."

Twelve minutes later they were building sandcastles. There was sand in their hair and clothes, and they were giggling uncontrollably. "This is fun," announced Gabby, tipping another handful down his shirt. 

"Yeah." Toby tried to clean the sand out of his ear. His gloved claws were becoming more useful all the time.

Gabby gave him a curious look. "Why're your ears shaped like that?" she asked.

Toby froze. Then he sighed. "Do you know what a mutant is?" he asked in a doleful tone.

"Sure," she said happily. "I wanna be a mutant when I grow up."

He blinked. "How come?"

She gave him a naughty little look. "It'll drive my dad nuts."

Toby honestly hadn't expected that, and he laughed out loud. She looked injured. "I'm not laughing at you," he explained, wiping his eyes carefully. "Honest. It's just…"

"You know, you didn't answer my question," she said, still a little hurt.

His eyebrow raised. "Okay, fine. My ears are weird, cos I'm a mutant. Happy?"

"Really?" Her owl-like brown eyes widened impossibly, and she bit her bottom lip. Then she shuffled closer to him and asked in a hushed tone, "What's it like?"

Arriving back at the mansion was a stately progression. All three were laden down with bags of all magnitudes, and even Rogue's super-strength couldn't compensate for the awkwardness. Various X-Men either laughed or helped out as Toby writhed with embarrassment over the magnitude of 'his' shopping spree. Although Rogue had bought it all, he reminded himself. 

Still, he had a silver lining, and it came in the form of a number scrawled in green crayon on newspaper, shoved into his pocket. Gabby had given it to him.

He collapsed in his room under the weight of the bags. "Oof." Scrambling out from under them, he pulled his jacket and gloves off, then kicked his sneakers off, and ran down the hall to the kitchen.

Kurt was there, spreading liverwurst on bread, and he raised his head as Toby went pelting past him to the fridge. "Guten tag, Toby," he said, a smile dancing in his yellow eyes.

"Hiya, mister Kurt," Toby said in a rushed breath, rummaging through the fridge like a tornado. "Ha! Gotcha!"

"What is the hurry?" Kurt asked as Toby grabbed one of the chicken drumsticks which had been reserved especially for him, and clambered up onto the chair with the cushions. 

"Hungry!" explained Toby, his fingers busy as they shredded the drumstick into slivers, which he downed almost immediately. He was getting better at that, Kurt noted. "I been out shopping all day, and…" he squirmed at little, his face flaming.

"Who took you shopping?" Kurt didn't quite understand the boy's discomfiture.

"Toby? Toby, where'd you go, kiddo?"

"Uh-oh." Toby's blue eyes were wide with chagrin as they met Kurt's. The German-born X-Man had to resist the temptation to laugh at him. 

Kurt leaned close to the apprehensive boy. "You don't suppose she wants you to try on anything else, ja?"

Toby looked at him in horror, then fled. Kurt leaned back on his chair, chuckling. 

"Hey, fuzzy-elf! You seen the kid?" Rogue flew into the kitchen. "Some of us are goin' swimmin' down at the lake to cool off after that. You wanna come?"

"Nein, danke," he declined graciously. "And I believe you just missed young Toby. He ran out into the gardens."

"Gawd damn it! How does that little critter move so fast?" 

The sun was setting, touching the tops of the trees and setting them alight with its rosy glow. Wolverine sat on the pier overhanging the lake, a half-finished six-pack beside him, his faded old hat pushed down over his eyes. In the water, Rogue, Betsy, Warren, Scott, Bobby, Remy, Jean and a dripping Hank played an extremely different sort of water-polo. Warren had an advantage – his wings – which pushed the water behind him in long smooth strokes, allowing him to move with incredible speed. The 'no powers' rule had been violated very quickly, Rogue, Hank and Bobby making the most of that oversight.

"Ow! You froze the water!"

"Well, you flew!"

Toby splashed in the shallows. The water was warm, contrary to Iceman's efforts, and he tried to swim a few times before surfacing, spluttering. It obviously took a bit of practice, but he assumed he'd get it in time. He'd always been pretty fast at physical activities, after all. His claws raked through the water as he splashed, turning somersaults and spattering Kurt with droplets where he dozed on the nearby bank. Logan watched him under the brim of his hat.

If the kid hadn't such a sunny nature, he mused, he'd have gone nuts long before this. He was excruciatingly careful about the placement of his hands, he noted with approval. And Rogue mentioned that he'd made a little friend today. So much the better. The kid was a charmer, no doubt about it. He sure wasn't a swimmer, though.

Toby gasped as he surfaced. That was the longest he'd stayed underneath for yet. He grinned. Getting better, he congratulated himself. Now if he could just get the hang of pushing himself through the water, he'd be set.

Abruptly, the ball came skidding across the surface towards him. Without thinking, his arm instinctively shot out like lightning and grabbed it, and to his surprise, he found himself the center of attention.

"This way, Toby!"

"Toby, ole buddy ole pal!"

"You've known him, what, two days, Bobby?"

"Give it here, sugah!"

"No, over here!"

"He's on _our_ side!"

"Who says?"

"You wanna make something of it?"

"Toby, I earnestly recommend passing the pigskin in question…"

"Shut UP, Hank."

"Well!"

He looked at them all, bemused, then down at the ball in his hands, and a mischievous grin crossed his face. "Heads up," he announced, before propelling himself up out of the water, throwing the ball above his head, then volleying it with as much force as he could muster, pelting it across the lake before he was swamped by a mass of blue fur.

"That's it," declared Hank, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You ignored my rather reasonable plea, I dunked you. Fair's fair. Now, hold on tight!" And Toby found himself deposited upon Hank's broad blue shoulders again, in the thick of the giggling, shouting fray. He even caught the ball a few times, his remarkable instincts guiding him.

Logan chuckled and lowered the brim of the hat. A much better day than yesterday, he mused with satisfaction, before someone emptied a bucketful of water on him.

"What in blazes…" he choked, then he caught sight of Rogue darting of through the sunset sky. He growled and launched himself into the water. "If that's the way you wanna play, darlin'," he shot after her as she landed on the other side of the fray.

"All _right!_ Now _he's_ on our side!"

"Oh shit."

"I'm inclined to agree with that assessment."

"It's cool, we still got speedy canary over here…"

"Well, thank-you very much, I don't think!"

"Calm down wings, it was just a joke-- GLUB!"

The sun was well and truly down by the time they hauled themselves out of the water, sporting a few new scrapes and foolish grins. Toby was gratified to find that he hadn't caused any of the new abrasions. In fact, Hank was hiding the fresh cut on his shoulder rather well, and it didn't really hurt anyway.

"Ah'm gonna wrinkle like a prune," Rogue complained as she headed off for the women's showers. "See ya at dinner, boys."

The men rumbled something affirmative, and took off towards the men's showers. That left Toby on the verandah, shivering a little under his wet swim-shirt and wondering if he could use the showers after everyone had finished. He was still a little sensitive about his scars, and didn't want anyone else to see them.

"They won't mind," came a gentle voice behind him. His head whipped around.

"Oh, hello, mister Professor," he said after he registered who it was through water-logged eyes and nostrils. 

"Just professor, Toby. It cancels out the mister," said Charles, smiling. "You know, the showers are separate and each has their own cubicle. No-one need even see your scars."

"But they hurt when soap gets in them, and I yell a bit," Toby admitted, his face sheepish. Now that he thought about it, it seemed like a pretty silly thing to worry about. After all, Mister Logan, Mister Scott, Mister Hank and Mister Remy had probably told the whole mansion about them.

"Not quite," said Charles dryly. "But close. I think Rogue told the rest."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?" asked Toby curiously. His voice and manner betrayed no indignation, but he was a little embarrassed by the idea of someone knowing all his random musings.

"I'm a telepath, like Jean and Cable," explained Charles. "I can hear people's thoughts, and manipulate them."

"Sounds scary."

"It is. Sometimes, I fear my powers more than any other kind in the universe." Charles's face was somber as he remembered the two expressions of ultimate psionic power that had been Jean and himself, as Phoenix and Onslaught. 

"The universe! You mean there's actually other planets and stuff with aliens and empires and rebellions and guys in big black suits?" Toby gasped, his words tumbling over one another. 

Charles laughed. "Absolutely. But the empires are not always bad," he added, half to himself. Lilandra…

"That's too cool," said Toby in awe.

"You should speak to mister Scott about it. His father is part of an intergalactic pirate crew called the Starjammers. He might even have some photos."

"Really? Wow…" Toby's eyes unfocused, and then he sneezed.

"Go on, into the shower with you," said Charles, smiling at the boy's childlike enthusiasm. Toby grinned at him, before clambering to his feet and darting into the building. Charles Xavier shook his head. He'd forgotten how young Toby was, with all he had lived through – _was_ living through, he corrected himself. Far too young to have such a mutation manifest so early. Yet he coped far better than X-Men four times his age, in far less the time. Charles's smile grew wry. Sabretooth's mutation, coupled with an endearing innocence and a sharp intelligence. The boy was complicated.

Said complicated boy had grabbed a towel and was trying not to yell when the soap smarted in his wounds. "Owww…."

"Who's moaning?"

"I dunno. Someone hurt?"

"It's just me," he said hurriedly, his choral, boyish treble sounding bizarre over the cacophony of tenors and baritones and the rumbling bass that was Hank. "The soap really hurts my back."

A resonant sigh. "I'm going to have to buy some more of that cream, aren't I, Toby?"

Toby winced. "I'm afraid so, mister Hank. They're bleeding again."

"Don't be worried, kiddo, Blue's just ribbing you," came Bobby's irreverent tenor through the steam. "Bleeding bad?"

Toby checked. "Nope. It's starting to stop, actually."

"A healing factor mus' be a handy t'ing," said Remy from a couple of cubicles to his left.

"You better believe that, bub."

"Oh. Gambit didn't know you were in here, mon ami."

"I know."

"Do you people want to shut up, so I can shower in peace? Honestly…"

"Why, Bish ole pal, what a thing to say."

"Humph!"

Toby turned the taps off and gingerly toweled himself dry, before slipping on his new pyjamas and opening his door. Remy was just stepping out as well, his chest bare and his auburn hair still dripping wet as he rubbed it. He winked at the boy, before striding out. Toby decided to wait for Mister Hank, because he needed some more gauze. The writing was soft and clean from his shower, but still tender, and healing factor or not, his didn't work fast enough to stop the closing skin from inadvertently breaking. He sat himself down on the bench to wait.

Hank McCoy stepping out of a shower, clad only in a pair of jeans, was not a sight Toby was about to forget. He had obviously rubbed his fur down vigorously to dry it, and it stood out from his body at right angles. He fought the urge to giggle, as Hank fought with the silky stuff, and gave up.

"Hank McCoy, mutant hero, scientist and fuzzball," came a cheerful voice from behind him, and Hank turned to scowl at his best friend. 

"Cast aspersions, Robert, when you can figure out how to stop freezing the plumbing when you have a nightmare," he sniffed.

"Touché. You waiting for Hank, Toby?" Bobby raised his eyebrows at the boy, who was red in the face from suppressed chuckles. He nodded, not trusting himself enough to speak.

"You need more gauze?" asked Hank, his blue eyes keen, and he sighed when Toby nodded again. "I suppose I'll have to brave the ladies then," he mourned.

Bobby was sniggering openly. "Y'know, you should use that de-frizz stuff Rogue buys…"

That was it. Toby completely lost control and started giggling. Hank gave the chortling pair a disgusted look.

"I _said,_ shut UP, people!"

"All right, all right, all right! Sheesh!" Bobby grabbed Toby's forearm and yanked the boy from the bathrooms, followed by the grumbling Hank. "Did Bish forget to commune with his biggest gun today or what?" he asked Hank when they were out of hearing.

"Robert, I think you mistook me for someone who cares."

"Good point. Uh oh, woman alert, ten o' clock. Evasive action suggested," muttered Bobby, and Hank's eyes widened, but they couldn't escape in time before Betsy and Rogue rounded the corner, to behold Hank in his full fuzzy glory.

Hank's eyes rolled heavenwards as they dissolved into helpless laughter. "There goes my dignity."

"Aw, sugah, we're laughin' _with_ you, only you ain't laughin'," chuckled Rogue, and Hank gave her a sour look. 

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I have other people to laugh with. Come on, Toby." And Hank left them in his wake, which consisted of static electricity and the smell of shampoo.

Dinner the second night was vastly different to dinner the first night, Toby found, much to his relief. He still finished first, and he still made a mess, but no-one seemed to mind this time. In fact, Logan gave him some pointers on how to shred his meat with his claws instead of tearing with his fangs. It was much easier to chew, actually.

"So, any news, professor?" asked Bobby once they'd all finished and were sipping their drinks in replete contentment.

"Nothing of any concern to us, Bobby," Charles assured him, and then his brow furrowed. "In fact, it seems too quiet. At any rate, I'm pleased to announce that a former X-Man will be rejoining us. Possibly tommorrow morning."

"What? Who?" asked Remy, his red eyes curious.

Charles actually grinned. "Miss Jubilation Lee."

There was a colossal whoop from Logan's direction, and every head turned to regard him in surprise at his uncharacteristic outburst. He gave them a sheepish smile, before turning back to his beer. Then it sank in.

"Jubilee? You're jokin'?"

"How'd you get Frosty to get her talons outta the kid?"

"What about school?"

Charles held up his hands at the barrage of excited comments and questions. "Jubilee will be attending the local school, along with Toby."

Toby wrinkled his nose. The only education he had ever received had been the rather rudimentary schooling at his orphanage. He didn't particularly like the idea of joining a year or two behind everyone else.

"She'll be a part-time member of the X-Men, only accompanying us on missions where her particular power is needed or where the numbers are required." Charles regarded the grinning Logan. "Understood?"

"Absolutely, Chuck," he said blithely, raising his schooner. They all knew Wolverine's habit of bringing Jubilee along on his dangerous, personal adventures.

"How come she's comin' back, Professor? Ah mean, it's not like Ah don't want her back, Ah do, but Emma Frost ain't the kind of person…" Rogue left the statement trailing.

Charles's eyes turned to Toby. "I… persuaded her it was in our best interests. With Penance and Leech now pulling their weight in Generation X, Jubilee's expertise could be used elsewhere. I believe she has told them everything and more about what she did 'when she was with the X-Men'…" A few chuckles around the table greeted this remark. "And with our newest charge, I felt we needed a another youth around to keep each other… entertained." He raised an eyebrow at Toby. No-one missed the hidden message – Emma Frost would not take the boy, and he was better off here, what with Logan and Rogue looking out for him, but he needed someone closer his own age. And a babysitter.

Toby thought better of scowling, instead peering down to where Logan sat. "Who's Jubilee?" he asked.

Logan grinned. "Jubilation Lee, a smart-mouthed, roller-skating, mall-hopping, Asian-American firecracker. She used ta be an X-Man, but when Generation X got put together, she left us. Now she's comin' back," he said with satisfaction. 

"She's Wolvie's little gal," explained Rogue with a teasing twinkle in her eye, and next to her, Remy snorted.

"Problem, Gumbo?" asked Logan mildly.

"Non, mon ami." Gambit grinned. "Only I hear she ain't so little no more."

"She's sixteen," said Logan with a shrug. 

Cable slowly grinned, spite twinkling in his eye. "I'd say you're in for some fun, Logan."

Logan scowled a little. "I swear, if you hadn't saved my hide back at that FOH rally, Summers…"

"Oh!" said Jean suddenly, and Scott turned to look at her quizzically. 

"What is it, Jean?"

Her eyes remained firmly averted from Toby as she said, "Graydon Creed."

Toby was bemused, and didn't care if it showed up on his face. "Who was Graydon Creed?"

There was a rather uncomfortable silence, before Charles sighed and looked the boy straight in the eyes. "Your brother."

"I have a brother?"

"Had," corrected Rogue sadly, but with a hint of steel in her voice. "Honey, let's just say that your family's not the friendliest in the world, okay?"

Toby blinked and looked around at the solemn faces. "My brother did something bad, didn't he," he said finally. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Toby, he did." Storm caught his gaze and held it. "Toby, have you perchance heard of the Friends of Humanity?"

"Sure," he said, now thoroughly confused. What had this to do with his brother? "The guy who was going to kill me tonight said that he used to be a member."

__

That made more than a few people around the table wince. "Well," continued Storm. "It was your brother, Graydon Creed, who established the FOH."

Toby frowned. "But wasn't he a mutant too, like me and my pa?"

Ororo smiled rather sadly. "No. He was Homo Sapiens, not Homo Superior, despite being the child of Sabretooth and Mystique."

Toby didn't say anything, his gaze travelling from Logan to the professor, his expression perfectly composed and controlled, but there was a fire behind his cool blue eyes, one which worried Rogue no end.

The next day he rose before dawn. Toby didn't allow himself the luxury of a languid awakening this time, instead slipping out of bed at the first glimmer of light and padding down the hall. He pulled open the front door, still barefoot and in his pyjamas, and shivered as the blast of cool air caressed him. He walked slowly around to the other side of the house, and examined the wall, before lodging his claws into the brickwork thoughtfully.

Hoisting himself up, he climbed the vertical stretch effortlessly, before carefully making his way over to his 'thinking spot,' as he had dubbed it – the small stretch of roof that Rogue had found him sitting on the night before. He sat with his chin on his hands, watching the commencing sunrise and trying to make sense of what had happened to him in the last two days.

It proved very hard.

"Let's see now," he murmured to himself. "I run away from the orphanage cos they were going to kill me. I come here, cos Joey said it was the place to go. These guys find out I'm the son of a mucho nasty man called Victor Creed, and they give me a name. I'm not an orphan no more, and I got a name."

He tipped his head back, squinting at the sky as birds streaked across the paling blue-grey. "I grow out my claws, cos they can be useful. I make two friends – Mister Logan and Miss Rogue. Mister Logan's going to teach me to use my claws properly. I get a whole bunch of clothes, and meet a girl called Gabby Marshall, who wants to be a mutant when she grows up. I play water-polo with the X-Men.

"This is too weird."

He methodically went through the events of the few days. "Way too weird."

Then his thoughts sobered. "I find out I have a brother called Graydon, who's dead. He hated mutants."

He examined the new sunlight on the lake. "I think I hate my family."

A crackle of thunder made his head turn, and behind him he noticed a small, fluffy raincloud, hovering over the entrance to Storm's attic loft. Toby raised an eyebrow. Weird, weird, weird. Miss 'Roro must be having a shower.

That reminded him. "I find out I'm living with the X-Men. Mister Logan is actually a guy called Wolverine, who beats up my pa on almost a monthly basis. Miss Rogue is really strong, and she can fly, but no-one can touch her. Mister Remy was mad at me, but I made him laugh and it's all okay again. I don't know what mister Remy can do, or Mister Scott. Mister professor, Jean and Mister Cable can all read minds. I gotta remember to watch what I think."

"I would also recommend watching what you say, young one," came a gentle voice behind him, and Toby sighed.

"Morning, Miss 'Roro," he said without turning around. Storm let the winds gently drift her to where the boy sat watching the sunrise, his hands cradling his face. The sky was streaked with angry red clouds touched in welcome by the rising sun, vivid against the white-blue-grey of the sky. Storm could feel the atmosphere building, and knew that the skies would open in the afternoon. A tempest. She shivered in anticipation, gathering her loose robe around her exquisite form.

"Why up so early, Toby?" she asked after a moment of silence. Her breeze ruffled the back of the boy's sleep-tousled hair, and he absent-mindedly brushed it away from his face, cutting his earlobe in the process. He ignored it, and it closed almost immediately.

"Just thinkin' aloud," he answered. "I always like the mornings. Not too many people were awake at the orphanage until 'bout eight o'clock, and so I always had this time to myself without anyone to pick on me. When I was smaller, I used to think the sun was my friend, and when it rose, all pink and bright, it was saying hi."

Storm looked out at the glowing sun, obscured by the clouds. Was such a one as this ever really young? 

"I used to creep out into the orphanage grounds and climb up to the top of the trees. If you sat up real high and looked straight up, you couldn't hardly see the building at all. It felt like you could reach out an' touch the stars as they faded away." His voice, that unearthly chorus, was barely a whisper. 

"The sun will always be your friend, Toby," said Ororo gently. "No matter what happens to you, how many people reject you, you will always know that she is there to welcome you."

He inhaled deeply, a shuddering breath. "I'm so confused. Everything's way too fast, Miss 'Roro."

"I know. It is not easy for any of us, but least of all for you." She put a slender arm around his shoulders. "Every one of us confronts the demons which plague us. We have all braved this rite of passage. Some, like Rogue, will never be free of it. But none of us have faced it quite so young, or with such brutality, as you. Not even Kitty or Jubilee."

"I don't know what to think anymore. I try and get it sorted out in my head, an' I just get more an' more confused. Why me? What can I do about something like this?" 

"You don't need to do anything, Toby. You simply need to be." Ororo pointed out at the blazing sun, her rays now caressing the horizon. "She will always accept you."

"Yeah." Toby's eyes had never left the radiant orb. "I know. But…"

"I know."

He sighed again, the breeze whipping his pyjamas against his body. "I don't know any of them – my father, my brother… I never knew 'em. I don't want to know 'em, and still they make everything bad for me."

"Not everything. You have us now. In time, you may even come to think of us as family."

"Family," he said bitterly. Ororo could feel him shaking, and realized he must be cold. Her body, so attuned to the elements, was effectively immune to such things, so she took the voluminous sleeve of her robe and wrapped it around him. In silence, they watched the sunrise, before he impulsively kissed her on the cheek and slipped down the wall.

"Thank-you, miss 'Roro," she heard, wafting on the breeze.

"Any time, my young friend," she whispered, before glancing up again at the now resplendent sun. "Any time."


End file.
